


Atonement

by OwlOfMyLove



Series: Isla!Verse [2]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Parent-Child Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-30
Updated: 2014-09-30
Packaged: 2018-02-16 20:50:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2284077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OwlOfMyLove/pseuds/OwlOfMyLove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With his memories restored, Mr. Gold struggles to atone for his mistreatment towards his daughter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Atonement

**Author's Note:**

> Anon prompted: Rumple takes Isla out for a Daddy/Daughter day.
> 
> \- Thank you for being patient Anon! Things are pretty crazy right now in the real world so I just want to let you know how much I appreciate this prompt to help pull me away.

The morning shower is torture.

Icy water falls down like sharp pin-pricks all over her skin, so cold she needs to inhale and hold her breath to ignore the pain. The soap that the severe nurse uses is no different than a scouring pad and peels away more flesh than dirt. Who knew a fat bar of white soap could do so much harm.  

She fights it every morning because of the pain and the nurse is terribly impatient. The nurse yells at her, tells her to stop screaming or else the other occupants of the building will hear her and they'll become a riotous mess themselves. The shower is short and still the nurse ends up soaked herself, gritting her teeth, cursing under her breathe, calling her an "annoying patient." 

Never her name. 

She can't help but to scream. She can clean herself up, if only they would let her. It doesn't have to hurt, they simply make it that way. 

This morning is different. She fights it, as usual but the water isn't icy when it comes out of the rickety shower head. 

It's warm. 

She gasps, low and surprised when the water falls down over her head as the nurse gruffly rubs the bar of soap over her body. The soap as well feels soft even though the nurse keeps her usual rough motion to wash the patient down. 

"Quiet for once. Thank God." The nurse snaps, pushing her down to scrub at her back.

The sensation is there. The one that visits her at night when she is hopeful another is thinking of her. It's the first she feels it during the day and it's surprising to feel it so early. It's a comfort that makes the pain of the showers go away and she's able to feel normal. She has no memories of who she was before she came into this asylum and maybe the lack of memories was why, but there was that sensation that made her feel like she was important to someone. 

That maybe someone out there was important to her and missing her more than ever on this day particular. 

* * *

Breakfast had been a failure. His first meal for Isla that wasn't a simple bowl of cereal and it had turned into a mild disaster. The pancakes were pathetically lumpy with batter pockets hiding under the almost black cakes. Isla had eaten them with feigned satisfaction, grinning and lying to him that they were delicious when he knew perfectly well that they were far from. It had been a poor choice to venture into a new morning recipe and he was angry with himself for not sticking to a different traditional meal.   
  
"Ouch!" Isla squeaked beneath him. "Please be careful."  
  
Gold apologized and turned his attention back to the task at hand; brushing Isla's hair. Her ringlets were still unkempt after she dressed herself and asked for help to take care of the knots in her hair. In their curse life, she asked every weekend when Dove wasn't with them and it was always a rough ordeal where he tore through her hair, leaving her crying and begging for him to be gentle. Today he vowed to be careful and win affection by doing up her hair in pigtails; a way many preschoolers in Storybrooke had their hair.  
  
"Mr. Dove only brushes my hair," her tone curious, "what are you doing to my  
hair? Do I have big knots?"  
  
"Just trying something new, sweetheart."   
  
New was an understatement. This entire day would be new for the both of them and already Isla had known something was different when she commented that Dove was supposed to be at the house since it was only Wednesday.   
  
Quietly, Gold cursed under his breath as he found the pigtails difficult to form. She didn't own the most unruly set of locks he had ever seen before, but managing them proved to be a challenging task.   
  
"All done now," Gold assured staring at the uneven tails on the side of her head.  
  
Isla caught her gaze in the mirror and let out a high-pitched squeal that was unfamiliar in the house. "They're so pretty!" She turned her body around to get the best angle she could find, balancing herself on the balls of her feet to peak over the bathroom counter better. "Thank you so much, Papa. I really love my hair."  
  
He found himself lost for words and instead smiled back to the young girl who kept her distance. The affection was strange to her still and these new loving names and attempts to bond had confused her more than he ever anticipated. After her own embrace to comfort him the night before, the father and daughter resumed their cursed behavior of keeping distance.   
  
"What shall we do today?" He knew what; a tea party and stories about Belle. It was still better to ask her, letting her feel like she could have a voice for once in her life.  
  
Isla stopped spinning around and her happy expression was instantly gone. "Why are you being so nice to me Papa?"

Not the answer he expected from her, but still one that he anticipated at some point.

"I'd like to start making up for all the time I didn't spend with you. From this day forward Isla, I vow to put you first in my life and be here for you. I want to be a good father for you, something you deserve and yet have never experienced."

"Oh." She's still confused and until Miss Swan breaks the curse and he can explain his actions more thoroughly, she's going to be left in such a state. "Well then I vow to be a good daughter then, Papa."

"You've always been a good daughter," he reminds her softly. "Tell me, sweetheart, what would you like to do today?"

She's moved on from the conversation now, noticing well enough that this isn't a time for tears.

"Can we have a tea party?"

"A tea party sounds wonderful, sweetheart. Do you need any help?"   
  
Her head nodded furiously. "Mm-hmm. Mr. Dove always brings the pitcher of lemonade to the playroom where the tea set is and also..." Her voice trailed off, almost ashamed to ask.  
  
"Also what?" Bonding with her was going to have rough patches he could only dream of vanishing in an instant.  
  
"Sometimes Mr. Dove brings in a bag of cookies if I'm being good."  
  
Gold smiled and lead way to signal her out of the bathroom. "Well then, why don't you set up the table and I'll bring up the cookies and lemonade."  
  
A toothy grin thanked him before she scurried down the hall to set up.

The pastel coloured wooden table was proudly moved to the center of her playroom, which was equally decorated with frilly décor, pale pinks, purples, and white paint to offer a calm princess theme for adventure. Though the table came with four chairs, each a different pastel colour, she moved only two on opposite ends of the yellow table. He was quick to assume the pastel green would be for him while she would favour the purple. Around the table Isla had set a plastic teapot in the center and set the table with saucers, plates, and teacups accordingly. Somehow she had procured cookies and had an even stack neatly placed on each plate for them to share.   
  
She was very invested into these parties. It was amazing Dove didn't carry extra weight from all the cookies she fed him each day.   
  
"I'm so very, very happy you're having a tea party with me Papa. I've wanted this my whole entire life!" A grin was stuck to her face and her brown eyes were filled with hope.   
  
The chair was too small for him and he could only fathom how Doves large stature was able to sit in the chair each morning without breaking the fragile wood or being uncomfortable. Her tea table at the Dark Castle was much more elaborate and accommodating to his size.   
  
"I'm sorry it took so long, Isla dear."   
  
He was careful to pour the lemonade, uncertain how her routine was but the grin now appearing to be permanent on her face told him he was on the right track. She complimented him, taking pride in noticing he didn't spill and that he was very careful. Apparently Dove struggled with the tiny tea set on a daily basis that resulted in the mess being from him, not her. 

"Will you tell me about her?" Her voice peaks and overpowers the sound of her toes dragging along the carpet as her body rocks back and forth with excitement. 

He starts slow, twisting the truth on how they met; unorthodox still but mentions of a deal and bar are spared into something more that matches her Disney films she's heavily invested in. Silly with tension at first that melts away into romance. A happy pregnancy is kept alive in detail with the memories from the other world. Moments that the three of them shared as a family; Belle being the foundation for all that was right in the world. Belle's bravery is fleshed out with much detail as he can possibly remember so she knows who her mother was and not this false woman the rest of Storybrooke currently remembers.

"She was a beautiful woman," he sighs as he pours their teacups with more lemonade. "A beautiful woman who was in love with an ugly ma-"

"You aren't ugly!" Isla interrupted. "You're very scary sometimes but you're never ugly, Papa. I think you're very pretty."

Gold stared at Isla's narrowed eyes that were scolding him. Fiery and brave much like Belles. Undaunted when she faced her monster; her neglecting father.   
  
"You and your mother are the only ones to think so," he said softly before he continued his story **.**

He gives her a false story behind the death of her mother; an illness. Vague and not far from either truth that he remembers. The mourning he paints for the death of Belle is kinder than how Storybrooke responded; indifferent. In his tale, the funeral was lavish with unwavering support and mourning for the new father and motherless infant. It's weak and low to use, but he apologizes in continuation by saying the loss of her mother is what tipped him over to neglecting his child. It's weak and vague and far less of an explanation than what she deserves.   
  
Isla brushed the cookie crumbs away from her mouth. "I wish Mama didn't die. She sounds like she's a special person."  
  
There's sadness in her voice and it's clear enough that the years of keeping Belle a secret did much more damage to her heart than he realized. He suffered the day Regina told him she died as Isla played absent-minded on the floor next to him. It took her so long to realize that her mother wasn't coming back and failed to understand what Rumplestiltskin meant by "Mama's gone."  
  
Lacey may have died during childbirth, bitter about pregnancy up until the very moment her life ended but today he saw no harm. When Miss Swan broke the curse, it would all make sense.   
  
"She loved you, Isla," Gold murmured tenderly as he took hold of her tiny hand. "You were her entire world and the day she knew she was with child, she cried tears of joy. When you first kicked inside her stomach, she laughed and called for me to come feel. The day you were born, your mother would always tell me it was one of the happiest in her life. She held in her arms a product of True Love."  
  
Her cheeks grow pink and a wild grin is drawn upon her face from pure joy. "Like in my stories? Do you think that's why I always dream of Mama as a princess? Maybe in another life you two were a prince and princess that fell in love."   
  
Gold can't help but laugh at the parallel words she's shared. "Isla, dear, I'm far from a prince. We can pretend Mama was a princess if you'd like. She certainly had the grace of one."  
  
Her smile resembles Belle in all ways possible. Every curve of cheek and lip matches her long-gone mother.  
  
"I have something of hers." Gold stood up, relieved that he could finally stretch away from the tiny table. "I'll only be a moment, sweetheart."  
  
She's seen it before and she'll react negatively when her eyes rest upon it. The chipped cup was what she reached for that resulted in the slap over her wrists that sent her crying to her room. At the time, it held no special connection between him and Belle - Lacey - and was merely set in his private study as a now broken tea cup that was the only remaining cup to a priceless set. When her tiny hands reached for the cup he thought only of the loss of an artifact and paid no mind to hit her and scold her with venomous words.    
  
When he limped back into her playroom her eyes made instant contact with the cup and with a swift movement, Isla moved her hands underneath her bottom and shook furiously from the memory of her last interaction with the cup.  
  
"I didn't touch it," she whimpered nervously. "I promise, Papa. I didn't touch it since that day."  
  
"No, no," Gold knelt beside her and placed the chipped cup on the table in her view. "I know, sweetheart. I should have never hurt you that day. That was very wrong of me to do so and I hope you can forgive me." He waited for her trembling to stop before he pressed on. "One day, shortly after your mother and I met, she dropped this cup and it chipped," he pointed to the gap and lightly touched it. "She was worried that by chipping it, that she had angered me."  
  
Isla had pulled her hands from under her and relaxed her posture. "Did you get mad at her?"  
  
Gold smiled, fond of the memory. "No. I told her it was just a cup and she was relieved. After that it became the only tea cup I would ever drink from and from all my possessions it was the only thing I truly cherished. It's all I have left of your mother - apart from you of course."  
  
"It's very pretty," Isla noted. "Blue like Mama's eyes."  
  
"Yes, sweetheart. Blue like Mama's eyes."

After the tea party, Isla was riddled with more energy that he imagined. She asked for them to play dress-up, read stories, half-way finish lunch before bursting with more activities for them to share. He felt _old_ today as he made attempts to keep up with her as she runabout the house with laughter, calling out things for them to do. His ankle was inflamed with pain that told him it was time to slow down and give it a rest, but he powered through. The day was promised to Isla and he would make it happen no matter how much pain he was suffering. He granted her another treat for the day; a walk around the neighbourhood. Never before had she been allowed to wander outside the property lines of the pink estate unless it involved picking up groceries with Dove. Isla stayed close, fearing to venture off and unearthing the abusive words that would lash her way should she walk too fast or too slow. His daughter was too reserved once released from her prison.   
  
"What's for dinner?" She peaked her question after their walk, clearly exhausted and craving nutrients from the extensive walking.   
  
The meals Dove made for her were simplistic and after the pancake fiasco, Gold was far from the mood to cook a meal. He was more of one to stay-in and eat at home, however late it may be, but things would be changing soon and Isla deserved to see more of Storybrooke than the yard, grocery store, and surrounding homes.   
  
"How about we go somewhere special to dinner?"

Eyes were locked on them as soon as Isla burst through the entrance of Granny's Diner. The concealed daughter of Mr. Gold and Lacey French was hardly brought out into the public and no doubt her face, a spitting image of Lacey - Belle - in all but her gorgeous brown eyes, would cause the traffic flow in the diner to stop. 

They helped themselves to a booth where the diner seemed least occupied. Cleared out recently by a party of five or seven by the looks of how the tables were being pushed back into place. Isla nestled into the book with excitement, ready for her first dinner out and paid no mind to the stares.  
  
Mrs. Lucas waited the table herself personally, appearing to be the only one bold enough to come over.   
  
"I haven't seen you since you were a newborn," Mrs. Lucas noted as she handed Isla a menu with a gentle approach. "I can't believe he let you  
outside." Her eyes gave him a dark look of disapproval despite the new found freedom Isla was finally being given.    
  
"We're having a daddy-daughter date," Isla announced. "He's been telling me all about my Mama."  
  
Mrs. Lucas knew about Lacey well enough in this life. As much as her own granddaughter enjoyed the casual encounters and late night in short skirts and painted lips, her young friend Lacey was worse and the reason Ruby had been drawn to the less than glamorous world of short-shorts and makeup. Mrs. Lucas also knew well enough how much Lacey French hated being pregnant and everything about the idea of not being able to linger at the bar with a newborn.   
  
"All good things I hope," Mrs. Lucas huffed in a mixture of disappointment and sympathy.   
  
Isla nodded. "All good things. Mama sounds like the most wonderfull-est person."  
  
He didn't wait for Mrs. Lucas to react before cutting off the conversation to order their meals. Gold hadn't opened the menu at all but knew an iced tea for himself, pink lemonade for her, and two hamburgers would satisfy them both.   
  
The wait for the food wasn't long, thank God, and the excitement in Isla's eyes for digging into the fries told him she was truly happy at that moment.  
  
"Can you pour my ketchup? I always make a mess."  
  
"Yes, of course."  
  
He waits for her to tell him when she's had enough, putting a bright red blob in the corner of her plate that will be enough for her fries and some of his own.  
  
"I love ketchup," she says as she pulls off the top bun to ask for some on her hamburger, "it's my most favourite con-dia-ments." She sounds out the last word with a struggle.  
  
"Condiments."  
  
She nodded enthusiastically. "That's what I meant, Papa!" There was only a split moment of silence between them and biting into his dinner would have to wait just a little longer with her next question.

"Did Mama like hamburgers?" 

Lacey was one for the chicken Parmesan that was always accompanied with a bottle of wine. She told him on their first night out for dinner that she wasn't very fond of hamburgers.

"I'm not too sure," he lied. "We can pretend that she did if that comforts you."

Isla smiled and attacked her hamburger with full force. A satisfied and drawn out "mmm" escaped her and she thanked him for taking her out for dinner.  "Mr. Dove sometimes makes these for me but they aren't nearly as yummy as these!"

She asks small questions about Belle that don't require much storytelling. Tidbits about her mother that are enough to give her light into the woman that once loved her. Isla responds with each new detail of Belle by comparing herself to her mother. How much the new information matches Isla herself and is beyond thrilled when the new detail is similar to the personality of their child. Books and teacups being by far the most thrilling bit of news for her. 

Isla can't see the stares from her side of the booth but the sets of eyes on them is more than enough. Storybrooke is well enough afraid of Mr. Gold and seeing him display affection to anyone since Lacey's passing, especially to his own daughter that he blamed for her death, is almost an special attraction of its own. Eyes go back to their own life over time but when a new patron enters the diner and they spot Mr. Gold in the back with a four-year-old, the gaze is locked for the next several minutes with whispers that question is parenting.   
  
His parenting being questioned doesn't bother him today as it would if they were back in their old land. Here he had been cruel to Isla and the residents doubting his ability to raise her in a loving environment was more than fair.   
  
When they exit the eyes still follow and a quick look over his shoulder shoots all sets of eyes downcast to their plates. If the appearance of Miss Swan hadn't caused such a headline, he would be front page news for The Storybrooke Mirror.   
  
Back home, Isla is clearly exhausted from the day. There are still a few short hours left before she's to make her way to the bedroom and rest her tiny body, but Gold doubts she'll even last that long.   
  
"I'm so tired!" Isla drags out the 'o' to get her point across. "We've never done so much before, Papa."  
  
"Did you have fun though?" Her face was covered in smiles almost the entirety of the day but there was that doubt that would claw at the back of his mind if he didn't ask.   
  
"Mm-hmm. I did, Papa. It's been the most fun day I've ever had in my life. Can we do this more often? When Mr. Dove has his day off can you promise not to call him back to work so you can go to your store?" She sounds desperate towards the end, feeling as if this day would be the one and only time they'd spend together.  
  
It's a promise he can't keep entirely. Business does come on the weekends despite the Closed sign being displayed. Mayor Mills loves paying no mind to signs that tell read that she, nor anyone else, is currently welcomed. 

"I'll do my best, sweetheart."

It's all she needs to hear. 

"Will you read me a story before bed?" She has one in her hands already. A thin spine but well tattered tells him it must be her favourite.   
  
"Of course." He took the book from her and she sat on the floor with her legs crossed, ready to listen. "Do you sit on the floor when Dove reads to you?"  
  
"He's not very nice to cuddle with," Isla wrinkled her nose. "Too stiff! It's like hugging a rock."  
  
"Ah," Gold could only hope his daughter didn't feel similar about his own gaunt frame. Hugging sticks wouldn't be any better. "Would you like to hop on my lap instead?"  
  
She nodded furiously and was mindful to sit on his good side. Her body curled up affectionately against his and she sighed happily, finally getting the embrace she had longed for for years.   
  
"Comfortable?" Relieved when she nodded again and giggled with excitement for him to begin reading.   
  
The story was short. Creased pages with dog-eared tabs were almost a distraction. Isla mumbled the words alongside him as he read to her. He didn't know if she could read - had Dove been teaching her? - but she knew this story by heart even if it came by having it read to her every night for the last twenty-eight years.   
  
Before he finished, she had dozed off against his chest. Secured and warm in his arms she was difficult to move to her bedroom up the stairs. The cane would have been useful but more than one arm was needed to support her obscurely cradled frame up the stairs. 

It's a difficult journey to move her up the stairs and keep his position without falling down and he knows this would be a wonderful moment to have his limb intact. His comfort is not worth waking her up. The child has had her fill of the day and putting her on the ground to walk with her bed may result in the child curling up on the steps in a small ball from exhaustion. 

He puts her down in the bed as gently as he possibly can, certain not to disturb her and harm her in any way. The covers are shimmied from under her to go atop and the worn out plush animal is nestled into the crook of her arm to accompany her on the adventures she dreams of.   
  
In their old world, he had spent many countless nights watching her in her cradle that was rocked by magic to help lull her within her sleep. It slowed as she grew, only to increase once after Belle had walked away in fear of losing her too. In Storybrooke, Gold found himself pushing her to the bedroom early and letting her sit in the bedroom in isolation just so he could be rid of her, closing the door so she would be unable to get out. Even as an infant, his new parent eyes didn't watch her and instead half-listened to the baby monitor that would only let him know if she was ready for a feeding.   
  
"Goodnight sweetheart," he whispered as he lowered down to her face. "I love you very much." Gold pressed a gentle kiss to her temple before leaving her with her dreams. 

He waits just a sliver over an hour before calling Dove back to his home. 

"Just make sure she doesn't wake up. There's someone I need to pay a visit to."

Dove doesn't question who or why and never will.

Madame Mayor needs a visit. 

* * *

Apart from the severe looking nurse, there is only one other visitor that comes to the cell.

A stern woman. Dark eyes that are filled with something evil and red lips that spread into a wicked smile whenever the tiny slit that passes her food through is opened. The woman says nothing with each visit and only takes a small peak with her evil eyes to make sure that the patient remains locked away in her cell. Like an animal that's on display for personal amusement. 

Tonight is different. The eyes of the woman are glazed with a near panic, as if she heard that the Patient herself had escaped or made a shocking revelation to who she was. She wishes she could remember who she was and why the mysterious woman enjoyed to look down at her. Where they once friends? Enemies? Did she ever do something to harm this woman? The nurse would tell her she was considered dangerous and that was 'one of' the reasons why she was locked up. Hurting this woman would be a good reason for her to be locked away but was it so necessary to gloat? 

"Oh..." The woman sighs, relieved and taunting at the same time. The woman knows something important.

It's the first time the woman has ever spoken and it startles her; sending an unwelcoming chill down her spine that makes her cling to the thin hospital gown she wears. The only voice she's familiar with is the nurse. This woman scares her more than ever tonight and the corner of the cell is the only comfort she can be given during the brief moment the woman visits. 

She wants to speak up and beg for an answer as to who she is. She wants to know what that warm glow that comforts her each night is and where it comes from. Ask for family. As for friends. Is there anyone who loves her? 

The woman closes the slit without care of how loud the clang will be when it slaps against the metal and a low, evil laugh is heard as she departs until she decides it's a proper time for visit. Weeks. Months. She never knew how long it was before the woman would return. 

She's confused. Aching for the warmth to visit her now to soothe the tears. 


End file.
